


Bruises Prove It's Real

by cruelest_month



Series: Eddie and The Joker [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bad Decisions, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker doesn't do anything like a normal person so it's no great surprise to Eddie that the man doesn't sleep like a normal person either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises Prove It's Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/gifts).



The Joker doesn't do anything like a normal person so it's no great surprise to Eddie that the man doesn't sleep like a normal person either. He tends to disappear for three or four days at a time only to resurface to use Eddie's couch. Generally speaking, this isn't such a bad thing. It's not his bed and it's not an important piece of furniture.

Still the first few times he nudges the clown awake with the barrel of a gun, and gestures towards the bathroom with it. "Get your damn makeup off first."

This is actually the Comedian being nice. He doesn't tell the Joker to get the fuck out. He doesn't tell him to find his own fucking furniture to crash and burn on. He just makes it clear that white face paint isn't allowed all over his living room even when he's sleeping on a shitty couch from Ikea.

The third time, the Joker's slow about it and even when he comes out, it still looks like one of his eyes is caked in black oily makeup. Eddie has to drag him under the light to see that it's actually just a fuck-ugly bruise that's slowly going from black to purple. The stupid idiot's got fair skin.

Eddie thinks that he looks better without the makeup. The scars are there, but everyone has those somewhere. The rest of him is flawless outside of a few scratches and bite marks here and there. Most of the bite marks Eddie recognizes. There's freckles on his arms and a few on his thighs, but there's nothing wrong with that.

When he's half-dead from not sleeping, he's almost sane. He's young. With the makeup on he looks older. The first time he tells Eddie about the scars, he makes up some bullshit about Vietnam and POWs, grinning even more when he knows he's struck a nerve. Pointing a gun doesn't do much then or ever. Over and over again, the Joker just nuzzles the barrel or wraps his tongue around it, before waiting. He always looks disappointed when his head doesn't get blown halfway to Hell. He doesn't have enough sense to be afraid of anything.

There's not much he can do for a black eye and Eddie doesn't really care much at all, so he lets the Joker fall asleep in a chair in the kitchen before tossing some raw steak at him. Flank or something. Nothing too expensive. The rest of it, he starts cooking for himself. He's not in the mood to feed anyone else, but the truth is that if the Joker grabs food off his plate he'll let it slide this once. And then next time come down on him like the wrath of God. He likes being unpredictable. He doesn't want the clown to get too comfortable.

"Put that on."

The Joker blinks a little, poking the dead cow flesh with a few fingers and laughing at it. His nails are covered with purple nail polish. It's chipping away slowly, but it's less annoying than face paint, and the hell if Eddie's going out of his way to buy him nail polish remover. "Raw meat. How thoughtful. Does this mean we're engaged?"

"Put it on your eye."

A few weeks later and it's some bruised ribs. Eddie comes close to giving the Joker a few cigar burns to encourage him to hold still as he tries to bandage him up. When he doesn't behave, Eddie slows down the more the Joker encourages him to hurry up. He pulls a little too tight, trying not to look annoyed when the Joker doesn't even hiss in pain. But Eddie knows he's in it and that's reward enough. He figures the little shit deserves it.

The Joker's sitting there in front of the bathroom sink, swinging his legs like a kid in hospital waiting room and keeps asking about getting a lollipop. Or maybe something else to suck on.

Eddie smacks the Joker's hands away from the waistband of his jeans, tapping his fingers lightly with the burning end of his cigar to emphasize his point. "When I'm done."

"You're no fun."

He's pouting the next time Eddie glances over at him. Eddie's not a big fan of pouting. "Then go get your goddamn boyfriend to bandage you up instead of bothering me."

He cackles childishly. "Jealous of a big winged boyscout?"

"You're his problem."

The Joker just shrugs, cheerful as ever. Eventually he distracts himself by scooting forward, resting his chin on Eddie's shoulder and playing with his hair.

When the Comedian's finally finished, he slides to his knees without being prompted and gives surprisingly good head for a mental patient.

"Use your gun," the Joker urges as he gets up.

It takes him a bit longer than Eddie likes so eventually he hauls him up and rolls his eyes. "Why?" _Why should I humor you? Why should I bother?_

"It's not fun like this. If we're going to play, let's really play."

"It would be fun with a gun?"

Eddie only realizes how Dr. Seuss that sounds after he says it and the Joker looks delighted. He smiles coaxingly. "When two words rhyme, they belong together."

They have sex all over the house, the gun keeping them company when Eddie feels like being bothered with pulling one out of its holster. He takes all the bullets out. The Joker tries to convince him to leave one in. Eddie pretends to, but really he palms it. The Joker's not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve. He doesn't know why he doesn't stick the goddamn bullet in though. Some fucking bullshit sentimental reason probably. It makes him mad enough that he's not at all mindful of the Joker's ribs when he fucks him.

"You can shoot me," the Joker suggests more than once.

"You want it too much," he growls out, setting the gun aside before thrusting that much harder until the Joker can't do much besides groan or giggle. He usually laughs a lot during sex. It's not exactly the most appropriate sound, but it's a little bit mellower than usual.

The bedroom's too boring. The Joker likes it best in the kitchen because that's where the knives are. With the knives around, he stops asking for Eddie to shoot him. He asks about matching smiles instead. Eddie bites roughly at the back of his neck until he shuts up. As they continue, the Joker plays with a steak knife.

The Comedian turns him around and they fuck facing each other up against the counter. The Joker keeps the blade in his hands even as they stop to catch their breath, and runs the dull side of it down along Eddie's back and up along his spine for a few minutes. And the Joker doesn't ask about the smiles again or being shot. Eventually he puts the knife down. It clatters loudly as it comes to rest in the garbage disposal. He doesn't laugh about it. He kisses Eddie instead.

They sleep on the couch. He wakes up to the Joker snuggling up against him, and stares at him for almost half an hour. His hair's a mess and almost back to being a dirty blond. Eddie knows the Joker will dye it a bright grass green once ready to go out to get pummeled again by the Batman.

This thought annoys Eddie so much that he decides the hell with it and pushes the Joker out of the way. Not off the couch though. No point doing that after wasting a good half hour of his night bandaging him up. No point lying there when he has better things to do.

The Joker sleeps for about twelve straight hours and Eddie's not sure what to make of that. His couch isn't that comfortable. His apartment isn't that safe. It bothers him all day long. After a few errands and one quick job on the other side of town, he cleans up some of the mess from the night before and kicks the gun with his boot before bending down to retrieve it.

Sitting in an armchair across from the couch, he opens up the gun and cleans it. He smokes the last of his Cubans and points the barrel at the sleeping man. He watches the chamber spin around and around. Empty and useless. A bad joke.

Somehow trust got established without Eddie noticing. Somehow neither one of them plans on killing the other anytime soon. Somehow that's almost nice, and he hates it.

**Author's Note:**

> Totally AU. Originally written for th_esaurus' eyes only, arguably, it ought to have stayed that way. The title's taken from "Bruises" by Sugarcult, but the song honestly has nothing to do with this fic.


End file.
